A-Z of Johnlock
by NuvolaBianca
Summary: Just a lil something i'm doing for fun. Fics are meant to be short, and i take requests/prompts for other letters of the alphabet, so if you wanna request something go ahead! Will contain fluff, and focuses on different aspects of S & J's relationship. I do not own Sherlock (though I wish i did!) nor do I own the beautiful cover art!
1. Chapter 1

A is for Autumn

Regents Park in mid September is truly a sight to behold. The smell of damp leaves and the musky scent of wet wood is so thick in the air you can almost taste it, and the vibrant bursts of red, yellow, orange and brown line the ruddy pathways, their castaways forming a velvety carpet underneath your feet.

It happened to be another one of those blissful days when the soft autumn wind was blowing, creating a pleasant breeze while certain two men strolled leisurely down the central path, gloved hands wrapped firmly around each other.

Suddenly, John grabbed Sherlock's arm, and his eyes shone with the excitement of a small child outside the candy shop.

"Look at that!" he cried, pointing towards a magnificent chestnut tree which stood taller than any surrounding buildings, and exhibited leaves so orange you wouldn't be stupid to think it was on fire, standing from a certain distance. The other man pressed his lips into a thin line and shot his partner a sideways glance.

"It's a tree, John. An Aesculus Hippocastanum, to be more specific. I highly doubt you were deprived of visits to the park in your childhood, therefore I fail to see your attraction to this rather plain and ordinary specimen of plant life." Remarked Sherlock, his voice dry and his face tilted to the side, eyebrows raised.

John's face fell, assuming an expression not too different to that of a puppy left outside in the pouring rain.

"But….It's so colourful! And big! Now that you mention it, I always wondered how the hell the leaves get such amazing colours, this time of year," he mused, eyes still fixed on the colossal thing and watching as a few scarlet leaves floated elegantly towards the ground, with the help of the gentle wind.

The taller man just turned to his shorter companion with the most condescending expression the sun had ever shone on.

"John, it's all rather too simple. During autumn and winter, the days are shorter and subsequently there is less light for photosynthesis. As their stored amount of chlorophyll gets used up, the green colour of the leaves fades and is replaced by the orange, red and yellow colours that are ever-present in all leaves, but that the chlorophyll so conveniently masks during the spring and summer months." Explained the consultant detective, as if he had shoved a whole textbook down his throat. "Really John, and you consider yourself a learned man!" he added, much to the chagrin of his partner.

"Sherlock, how on earth did you acquire the ability to take the fun out of everything?!" he expostulated before rolling his eyes and staring at the patterned leaves under his feet.

The two stayed in silence for a few seconds, but Sherlock took the opportunity to seize John by the arm and drag him forcefully to a nearby bench.

"Sit." He ordered. "Wait here, I'll be back in approximately 17 minutes, so don't move!" he commanded once more, before walking back the way they had come. John, being long accustomed to this man's rather sudden and strange moods, simply shook his head and prayed that a high-speed chase through London wouldn't follow, nor for any 'Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway' texts to start him worrying. This was their two-month anniversary after all, and John was determined to make it special for the both of them.

To be perfectly honest, John doesn't remember a time when Sherlock wasn't waking him up at 2 in the morning, dragging him out for some crazy case and then treating him to dinner at Angelo's after. He can't remember how his life was like before the strange consultant detective flipped it upside down.

His thoughts were cut short as his boyfriend came into his field of vision once again. John checked his watch.

"You lied."

"What?"

"You lied. You said you'd be gone 17 minutes, but you've been away for 18 minutes and approximately….37 seconds."

Sherlock's brows knitted together in slight aggravation, and for a couple of seconds an awkward silence presided over both men, before John started spluttering. And coughing. And before long he was giggling like a lovestruck schoolgirl.

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together once again, this time in confusion.

"What's so funny, John?"

"It's just…your face…ohmygod…it's hilarious!" wheezed the other man between bouts of raucous laughter.

"Well it's the only one I've got, so I'm afraid you'll just have to put up with it. Oh, and, er…I, uhm…got you this." Stuttered the taller guy, a trait unusual to his otherwise decisive demeanour. Blushing slightly, he held out a slightly crumpled piece of paper to his partner.

John took the piece of paper from Sherlock's hand, eyebrow raised in curiosity, before his face relaxed into a genuine smile.

"Oh Sherlock… you didn't have to do this! Honestly!" he beamed while staring at the miniature painting of a flaming orange chestnut tree. "But…where did you get this from?"

"There was a street artist about 60 meters from where we came. If seeing that tree made you so unusually happy, I thought you would rather appreciate the gesture."

John pulled Sherlock in by his scarf and planted a loving kiss on his lips.

"That…was so sweet. Thank you."

Sherlock's pale blue eyes looked deeply into Johns, before he drew him in for another long, passionate kiss.

"People will talk!" murmured John when they broke apart, panting slightly.

Sherlock grinned.

"Since when do they do anything else?"


	2. B is for Baker Street

B is for Baker Street

"Urgh… I need to borrow your card. **Now**." Stated John as he slammed the door to 221B Baker Street so hard he somehow managed to break one of the hinges.

Sherlock didn't even dignify him with a glance; instead he continued to face the fireplace with his hands steeped under his chin, deep in thought.

"You had another row with the chip and pin machine, I assume."

John put both hands on his hips and looked at Sherlock, exasperated.

"Well what the bloody hell do you expect me to do?! First of all, it somehow thinks it has the right to tell me what to do. It tells me 'Please scan your fist item.' The words seem polite, but no, I can see through all that! The machine can't fool me, I can see how much it wants to have control over my life, my choices, how much it wants to condition me into a state where I feel like my free will is completely gone! But grudgingly, I comply. I scan my first item. Except my first item doesn't **bloody seem to want to scan**! Then this…subliminal message appears on the screen, and you know what it says? It says 'checking item weight', and I know what the machine is trying to do. It's trying to tell me that I'm fat. I mean, I already know that I'm not the thinnest man on the planet, but I was in the army for fucks sake, I think I know how to keep fit thank you very much!"

Sherlock spun around to face John, much amused by this tirade of angry complaints.

"Then you know what happens? The machine highlights my complete incompetence by telling me that I have to 'wait for assistance'. Very clever, isn't it? Trying to embarrass me in front of all the other customers! Haha! Very clever indeed, almost worthy of the great Sherlock Holmes! So you know what happened after that? Some woman walked up to me and swiped her card across the reader, looking at me like I was a complete moron for not knowing how to scan in my first item, despite me being completely faultless in the matter.

Then, I stare at the machine. I stare at it, I do. I look at it and tell it that, although it may have won the battle, It will NEVER win the war, and that's when it deals it's final blow. As soon as I place my first item in the bagging area as it had so unceremoniously instructed me to do, do you know what it tells me? Huh, Sherlock?"

Sherlock was frankly too stunned to utter a word.

"Want to take an educated guess? No? 'Unexpected item in bagging area.' That's it. That's when I let everything go and just scream at it using the most colourful language I can think of, and that's also why I've been banned from ASDA for a month. They won't even let me take today's shopping home, and they'll kick me out if I set foot in that place anytime in the next 30 days!"

Sherlock rummaged in his pockets until he produced a shiny purple card.

"Here, take this. And next time, refrain from making such a fool of yourself, for goodness' sakes. I assume I'll have to go and take the shopping you left. Total waste of time, but I have you to thank for that, John." He muttered, fumbling around for his coat grudgingly.

-30 minutes later-

John jumped about 3 meters into the air as Sherlock slammed the door of 221B so hard he somehow managed to break the other hinge, subsequently causing the door to collapse onto the floor with a loud crash.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What in the name of Jesus is wrong with you?!"

Sherlock stomped inside the flat and set the bags of shopping down on the floor. Tearing his coat off his back, he shot his boyfriend an annoyed glare.

"It seems like Molly might have to do our shopping for us. Or Lestrade."

John's eyes widened as he absorbed everything being said.

"No way…, you too? Are you actually serious? You lecture **me **about making a fool of myself and then **you** get banned from ASDA too?"

Sherlock took a sudden interest at his dusty shoes, staring at them like they were the most interesting things in the world.

"…Perhaps."

John's eyes flicked agitatedly between the shopping bags, Sherlock, and the newly broken door.

"Sherlock, what on earth are we going to do about this? And what about the door? Did you even think about the consequences, huh? It's going to cost a fortune to fix?"

Sherlock interrupted him, with another annoyed glance.

"Oh shut up John, I've got everything under control!" he exclaimed, lifting his phone to his ear after having punched out a long string of numbers.

A pause.

"It's ringing."

Another pause.

"Oh, good day to you, _darling_ brother dear! I've been wondering if you do John and I a little favour, would you mind popping over to Baker Street?"


	3. C is for Calculation

C is for Calculation

"But Sheeerrlooock!" pouted the small, sandy-haired boy as he waved a hand in front of his friend's face, trying to get a reaction.

"John, do it yourself, it's not hard!"

The taller boy stared at his friend, then got back to pouring over one of Mycroft's GCSE Physics textbooks. Urgh. John's maths wasn't as atrocious as that of the other children in their class, so why couldn't he work it out himself? Plus, learning Long Division was boring! Sherlock would much rather be calculating the efficiency of a motor, or building circuits in his room, or learning about the Electromagnetic Spectrum.

John frowned and grabbed a pencil in his podgy fingers. He sat there, legs crossed, staring at the incomprehensible jargon of numbers strewn all over the page of his Y4 workbook for a few seconds, before attempting once again to consult his friend.

"Sherlock, can you check the answers I've done so far? Pleaaaase?"

The addressed rolled his eyes and huffed, before getting up off the four-poster bed he was lying on. He looked over his friend's shoulder with both eyebrows raised.

His youthful countenance soon contorted itself into a portrait of confusion itself.

"John, how on earth does 5 divided by 8 give you 10? I mean, how does 8 fit cleanly into 5 anyway?"

"It does, if you push it!"

Sherlock just couldn't resist. No matter how hard he was trying to keep his cool poker-face on, the small kid just cracked up laughing, and three seconds later he was on the floor, holding his stomach.

John stood above him, not seeing the hilarity of the situation in the slightest.

"But it _**does!**_"

Sherlock looked up from his contorted position on the shiny, polished wooden floor.

"Oh John, you're really going to need my help if you want to pass your S. !"

John frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, put out. Sherlock only grinned wolfishly in response, holding his arm out to his shorter friend. Rolling his eyes, John took Sherlock's hand in his and pulled him up into a standing position.

"Just because you've already done S. two years early doesn't mean you can gloat, ok?"

Sherlock didn't reply. Yeah right, like he was ever going to stop trying to exercise his intellectual superiority! He snatched John's maths book and scanned over all the questions.

"You got numbers 4,6,9 and 10 right. The others are wrong."

"What?! But there's 20 questions! You're telling me I got 16 wrong?!"

Sherlock nodded.

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm telling you."

If you can describe living, breathing people as 'deflating', well, that's exactly what John did. It's almost like you could 'see' the exasperated sigh coming out of his lips.

"Can you do it for me? Please, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked like he had just been asked to throw himself out in front of a speeding car.

"That's ridiculous, John. This is the 17th time you've asked to copy my homework!"

John's eyes grew wide.

"You've been counting?!"

Sherlock dismissed this question with a wave of his small hand.

John wasn't willing to give up that easily.

"Oh come on, I let you set fire to my art project for an experiment! And remember the time when we went apple picking and I pretended to be Isaac Newton and you dropped apples on my head?"

Sherlock shook his head in complete disapproval.

"Those were only one offs! How else have you aided me recently?"

John sat down on the bed and kicked his short legs into the air. He could easily see that imploring Sherlock would just blow his ego up and bring it to new, vertiginous heights. He puffed both cheeks out in concentration. If his friend was to help him, John needed to use different tactics, even if he had to irritate the other boy to get what he wanted. Suddenly, the answer came to me.

"If you won't help me, It obviously means you don't know the answers yourself. I'll go and ask Mycroft instead!"

He grabbed his books and walked slowly towards the oak door of Sherlock's bedroom, patiently waiting for the response he was almost certain would come out of the clever-clogs guy opposite him.

"Number 1: You have to divide 21 by 3 to get 7. Number 2: Do the same but with 50 and 10…"

John smiled to himself. This was one maths homework he was sure to get full marks in!


	4. D is for Dog

D is for Dog

_John…what in the name of science is this thing doing in the flat_

-SH

…_.What on earth are you talking about_

-JW

_I, John, am talking about our small canine visitor, who is at the moment completely rapt in vomiting the contents of its breakfast onto one of your medical books._

_-SH_

…_.FUCK. WHICH BOOK_

_-JW_

_The one on Craniofacial Surgery_

-SH

_Well don't just STAND THERE! MOP IT UP!_

_-JW_

_I shall only do so after you care to explain what this animal is doing in our flat anyway. You know I utterly detest the beings and have absolutely no time for them, nor the heart to care for them._

_-SH_

_Oh god what is it doing now_

_-SH_

_What?_

_-JW_

_It's whinging. What does it want. What am I supposed to do with it._

_-SH_

_**He, **__Sherlock. __**He. **__His name is Chip, and Mycroft dropped him off this morning at the flat. He said he received him as a present from the Danish ambassador…or something. And Sherlock, he's whinging coz he's hungry. There's dog food in the pasta cupboard, feed him!_

_-JW_

_There. I've fed it. And next time my brother tries to recycle his gifts, would you please have the good grace to slam the door in his face?!_

_-SH_

_Sherlock, it was sweet of him! In fact, I have a feeling you two will become good friends!_

_-JW_

_I think Anderson will actually start showing signs of human intelligence and evolve from his present state as a Neanderthal into a fully functional Homo Sapiens before I will ever form emotional attachments to a member of the canine species._

_-SH_

_And anyway, what kind of a name is Chip?! _

_-SH_

_I…thought it suited him. I mean, Mycroft wanted to call him Diogenes, for god's sake._

_-JW_

_Diogenes is better than Chip_

_-SH_

_Is not_

_-JW_

_Definitely is. Would you rather be named after a legendary Greek philosopher who almost single-handedly founded Cynic reasoning, or a cubic slice of deep-fried potato?_

_-SH_

_Well, what would you call him then?!_

_-JW_

_Voltaire_

_-SH_

_W-wha…..you have actually got to be kidding me. You're going to name a dog…Voltaire. What is wrong with you._

_-JW_

_It's perfect. The 18__th__ Century author who revolutionised French literature._

_-SH_

_We are not, and I repeat NOT calling him Voltaire._

_-JW_

_Oh God John it's doing it_

_-SH_

_?_

_-JW_

_It's assaulting me John! _

_-SH_

_Sherlock, he's just __**playing, **__for fucks sake! He wants some fun and possibly cuddles!_

_-JW_

_Under no circumstances will I do any such thing._

_-SH_

_Fine, you're not getting sex for a whole month._

_-JW_

…_.I am now holding it gingerly in my arms. Is that good enough for you?_

_-SH_

_Yes. Well done._

_-JW_

_It's salivating on my best shirt_

_-SH_

_The purple one?_

_-JW_

_Yes._

_-SH_

_The one Greg calls the 'purple shirt of sex'?_

_-JW_

_Don't remind me of that._

_-SH_

_Ok…point taken. Just set him down then, I'm getting back home in about 10 minutes. Sarah wanted me to do some emergency overtime at the Surgery._

_-JW_

_It irks me when you go out. I have no one to subject my sensational deductions to._

_-SH_

_Sherlock….it's called having a job. And plus, now you can get Chip to listen to you when I'm not there!_

_-JW_

_Voltaire_

_-SH_

_Chip_

_-JW_

_Volatire_

_-SH_

_Chip_

_-JW_

_Enjolras_

_-SH_

…_..who the fuck is Enjolras_

_-JW_

_Revolutionary student; character of Victor Hugo's epic novel Les Miserables._

_-SH_

_I don't even know how to pronounce that! What is your obsession with French people no one cares about?!_

_-JW_

_How about….Bacon_

_-JW_

_No. Vidocq. Final offer._

_-SH_

…_.._

_-JW_

_Fine_

_-JW_

_Seriously?_

_-SH_

_Yh, I just give up trying to understand you and your stupid idiotic massive intellect._

_-JW_

_Love you too_

_-SH_

_Don't give me that_

_-JW_


	5. E is for Engagement

E is for Engagement

Sherlock surprised is a luxury not many people get to see. However, it was hard for Sherlock to keep his composure when this letter arrived through the door:

_Dear Sherlock L. Holmes and John H. Watson,_

_You are cordially invited to the Civil Union of _

_Messers Mycroft Holmes and Gregory Lestrade on the 15__th__ April at Canterbury Cathedral. Service will commence at 11:00 and will last until 12:30. Reception afterwards will be held at The Grange._

_There will be cake._

John walked into the dining room, still in his pyjamas, when he beheld an unfamiliar sight: his partner trembling violently, wide eyed and clutching a crumpled piece of paper so hard his knuckles were almost white.

"Well what's all this then?" he asked.

The other man was only able to stutter a vague syllable that sounded a lot like 'ma-marr' before his knees gave way and he sunk fully into a kitchen chair. When John was finally able to prise the object of such scandal from the other's fingers he smiled to himself. It had been two months since Greg had decided to update him on his relationship with Mycroft:

_It took 3000 quid's worth in fancy dinners, boat hire, fireworks displays and string quartets, but he said yes! Be my witness?_

-GL

"Well….aren't you happy for him? For the both of them?" asked John, rather perplexed as to why his lover would be so greatly shocked.

"You…you…you_** knew**_ about this?!"

John didn't understand.

"Well… of course! Greg let me know about a month ago, and I immediately assumed Mycroft had told you too…..didn't he?"

It was obvious by the terrifying glare Sherlock was giving him that no, Mycroft had not told him. John didn't know quite what to say. He moved quickly towards the kitchen to try and escape further confrontation when a small slip of ivory parchment fell out from the wedding invitation. John bent down to pick it up and saw that Mycroft had scribbled something in his….surprisingly untidy handwriting.

I know how much you will hate this, so that's why I'm asking you. I need two witnesses, and while I have found one in the form of Anthea, I need another…and it just so happens that I want it to be you. All you need to do really is sign some boring papers, nothing special. I know you'll do it.

-M.

P.S sorry for the late news-I did send you a picture of the engagement ring but since you took the liberty of blocking my number on your phone...

John grinned and tossed the note over to Sherlock, who caught it deftly between his right index and middle fingers. If it was possible for his face to grow paler than it was in its present state, then it did, while the trembling resumed with a startling violence that would have left any unlucky onlooker wondering if a small earthquake had started.

"I guess that makes us both witnesses then, huh?"

Sherlock slammed his hands on the table in response.

"No."

John looked up with a curious look painted across his features.

"Well what do you mean, no?!"

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together, and John found himself wondering if the temperature in the room had dropped about 10 degrees.

"What I _mean, _John, is that I am not coming within a 10 mile radius of my brother, let alone consent to being a witness at his wedding!"

And with a dramatic toss of his curly head, he stormed out of the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him so violently the glass pane creaked ominously.

John sighed. He was so glad that Greg had finally asked Mycroft the Big Question, but at the same time hated him for having the courage to say what John knew he would never have the courage to say. It's not like John had even come close to asking Sherlock to marry him; after all, they had been a couple for less than half a year…but the question still stuck in the back of his mind. Would he and Sherlock grow old together? Would they still put up with each other after all those years? Would Sherlock even _want _to make such a huge commitment?

John sighed once more and stood up stiffly. There was no use trying to argue with Sherlock, but he was prepared to try a slightly different tactic. In was only until very recently that Sherlock had allowed John into his room-It was retained almost a sacred space where the extraordinary mind of this extraordinary man could be free from almost all boundaries imposed by Society, the Law and John, so whenever said man stepped into that one room, he almost felt special for having access to something that nobody else had access to.

Sherlock sat at his desk scribbling furiously on the back of a stained napkin, so engrossed in his complex thoughts he didn't sense his partner's presence until two strong arms held him fast from behind.

"**Not **going to work." Hissed the detective.

John just planted a kiss into his hair in response and hugged him tighter.

"John. Get off."

"Nope."

"John, do you-"

"Shut up."

Sherlock sighed, thoroughly exasperated. However, he grudgingly leant back in his chair and tilted his head backwards so he could get a better look at John.

"Honestly, I'm still going to say no."

John pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and continued running his fingers through Sherlock's thick, curly hair.

"I think you can be persuaded."


	6. F is for Foundations

F is for Foundations (as requested by **ConsultingWriter**)

(this is sort of a continuation from E is for Engagement, but you guys can also treat it as its individual story if you want to :D )

John blinked for a small fraction of a second. Although Sherlock had dragged him off to many crime scenes before, he could never fully get used to the bright flashes of police sirens and the cold glow of hand-held torches illuminating partially severed bodies. Someone _else_, on the other hand, could barely contain their excitement.

"John! Look! He's been decapitated! Isn't this just wonderful?!"

John sighed and raised his eyes to the heavens in a silent plea for help, which, strangely, duly arrived in the forms of Anderson and Sally. Why strangely? Well, usually anyone who spotted the rather appropriately named "Devil Couple" from less than a mile away would run away as fast as they could and never look back.

"Hey there, freak!" Sally called out brightly.

John nudged Sherlock's arms subtly, as if to say 'Don't let them get to you', but the brilliant tongue of the brilliant Detective was already wagging.

"Anderson, many congratulations on finalising the divorce! On the other hand, you might need some serious help with that alimony which you so obviously can't afford. Sally, you'd do very very well to watch out…Anderson's ex _does _have certain homicidal tendencies, and I'd hate it ever so much if anything were to happen to you."

John nudged Sherlock with much more force this time, trying to get him to just _**shut up. **_While Sally remained reasonably impassive, Anderson fell straight into Sherlock's trap.

"How….just…..ok. Number one, I have absolutely _no issues _with paying the alimony, thank you **very much**. Number two…" here he trailed off and shifted from one foot to another in obvious discomfort. "My ex wife does **not** have homicidal tendencies! I have no idea what could have given you such a stupid impression!"

The detective raised a sardonic, questioning eyebrow in response.

"Oh? What about the time she threw a kitchen knife at you? Surely you owe her that deep gash extending from the top of your right ear to the middle of your neck?" He smirked. "Although in hindsight, I wish she had aimed better. Your face would look infinitely more beautiful with a chopping utensil sticking out of it."

John couldn't fail to suppress a giggle when he saw Anderson's expression of complete defeat mixed with pure, unadulterated loathing.

"Whatever, freak." Scoffed Sally. "Come on, let's leave these dicks to themselves," she spat as she led her partner away from the smirking pair.

When John was 100% sure that the two were out of earshot, he collapsed into a fit of giggles worthy of a teenage girl.

"Sherlock, that was brilliant, I have to say. Did you see the look on Anderson's face?"

Sherlock was no doubt about to reply, when a familiar person emerged from one of the police cars to their immediate left. His grey hair was sticking up all over the place and his clothes were visibly crumpled.

As soon as the detective caught sight of his brother's fiancée, his features tensed up considerably.

"Detective Inspector." He greeted dryly with a slight dip of his head.

Greg, completely immune to Sherlock's cold greeting, walked up to the pair and grinned widely.

"John! Sherlock! Great to see you guys! I trust you got the invite on time?"

John smiled warmly back at the inspector. He had finally convinced his partner to be one of the witnessses at his brother's civil partnership, but he fully well knew that Sherlock wasn't going to go down without a sulk.

"Thanks Greg, we'll definitely be there! Come to think of it, I need a new suit!" he laughed cheerfully and clapped his friend on the back lightly.

Greg smiled to himself, but shook his head decisively.

"Ahem. We can continue this discussion afterwards, but for now, we need to get on with solving this murder!" He proclaimed rather resolutely with a nervous side glance at the tall, curly haired guy standing next to John.

And so, things resumed as they usually did. Lestrade briefed the pair on the details of the victim, John gave his medical opinion, Sally shot everyone except Anderson dirty looks. Sherlock told Anderson off for existing, Lestrade rolled his eyes in exasperation, Sherlock gave his final crushing deduction as to who the murderer was.

"What do you mean, the maid?!" Expostulated Lestrade. "All the clues point to the son-in-law!"

Sherlock shook his head pitifully at the man standing before him. "No, no, no. It wouldn't have been the son in law, look at his cufflinks, for heaven's sake!"

Greg's patience was waning fast. "Would you _please _explain, then?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"The cufflinks look very similar at first glance, but if you look closer, you will observe a different floral pattern on each one. He obviously put the wrong pair on in his hurry to-"

The young man cut himself off sharply as he looked at John. He had only just realised that his other half was shaking like a leaf in the evening chill, and wasn't even wearing his coat. Pausing in mid-deduction, he strode over to the shorter man and wrapped his own long, black coat around his freezing shoulders.

John looked up, visibly startled.

"Sherlock? Put your coat back on, you'll freeze!"

"You're the one that's going to be suffering from Hypothermia, by the looks of it." The detective rebuked. He then proceeded to take his signature midnight-blue scarf off his neck and wrapped it lovingly around the other's.

"Sherlock!" Hissed John. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

The other thought about this question for a split second.

"Laying down the foundations for a caring relationship?" he asked tentatively.

John stood there for a couple of seconds in complete astonishment while Lestrade grinned like a complete idiot, flashing John a thumbs up from behind Sherlock's back.

"Promise me you'll never say that again?"


	7. Chapter 7

A/N:

**Basically, this (teenlock!) chapter is loads longer than all my other chapters, because I thought…..well actually I was just procrastinating, to be honest :D Don't worry guys, things WILL sort themselves out in the next chapter, with H. Then you guys can get your teenlock! fluff, so it'll all be sunshine and roses and daisies! Thanks for sticking with this so far, much love to you all!**

G is for Girls (as requested by **ConsultingWriter**)

Irene tapped gently on the door to room 221B. When she could tell that she was never going to get a response, she just flung the door wide open to reveal a disgruntled figure sitting on the bottom of a bunk bed and reading a book about String Theory.

"Irene, what are _you _doing in the boy's dorm?" snapped the reader who had just been oh-so-rudely interrupted. Irene assumed an expression of mock outrage.

"Since when do you object so much to my visits, Sherly darling?" she asked innocently.

'Sherly' scowled so much his eyebrows were practically colliding into each other.

"For the love of Einstein, we're 17 years old! You think you could stop with the infantile nicknames?"

Irene smirked at him. "Never."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to his book. As much as he tried to look completely absorbed in some random Professor's comments on the complexity of the relationship between Bosons and Fermions, Irene strolled casually over to the bed and decided to sit beside him.

A couple of minutes passed in a silence which couldn't be described neither as awkward nor companionable, however both parties were grateful for the distraction that came in the shape of Molly Hooper.

The small woman pushed the door open with marked apprehension, but giggled when she saw Sherlock's surly expression.

He, of course, made no effort to greet his new guest, while Irene made no disguise of running over to Molly and sweeping her up in a massive embrace.

"Molly! Oh. My. God. I haven't seen you in ages! You never stop by room 135C these days! I must say I was getting pretty lonely, with Sally slobbering all over that moronic Anderson bloke and everything!" she exclaimed, pouting slightly.

Molly looked away with a marked blush. "I'm happy to see you too, Irene…..it's just that….I kinda have something to tell you."

Here she leant closer to her curious friend. "But you sorta have to promise not to tell anyone…" she whispered with a small smile.

Irene grinned back at her like mad. "I really do miss our girly chats! I think we should go somewhere else, though…" she mumbled as she cast Sherlock a doubtful glance. The young man huffed in annoyance and placed his book to the side of the bed.

"Look, you don't necessarily have to go elsewhere to tell Irene all about your lovey-dovey thoughts on that Moriarty guy, or how you've had an enormous crush on him for almost 7 months, 20 days and 13 hours, but If you're going to end up thinking of sickly love confession speeches or discussing the size of his genitalia, I would appreciate it if you would leave."

If looks could kill, Sherlock would have been dead over 9000 times already, and Irene didn't look like she was about to stop glaring at him. Molly, on the other hand, looked like she was on the verge of tears.

"H-how did you know? How could you tell that I l-liked Jim?" she stuttered in confusion. Her eyes were wide and she looked positively petrified.

"You think I haven't observed how your pupils dilate every time he seems to pass you in the corridors? How you seem to blush uncontrollably anytime he exchanges a casual word with you?" Sherlock replied with one of his usual, sardonic smirks. "An idiot could have worked it out."

Irene looked like she was about to slap him, but decided to take Molly's hands in her own instead.

"Molly, don't listen to him. He's being an insufferable dick, as usual._" -cue an irritated grunt from none other than the 'insufferable dick' himself- _"Look, have you told him that you like him?"

Molly shook her head. "H-he's always getting attention from that Anthea girl; even the thought of going out with someone like me would disgust him!"

Irene clasped a heavy hand on her shoulder. "_**No.**_ Molly, I will **not **listen to you talk about yourself like that. You're amazing, and you're one of my best friends. Any guy in this whole school would be goddamn lucky to have you as a girlfriend!"

Molly wore the same expression a small, lost child wears after being reunited with its parents. "They would?"

Irene nodded firmly. "Mmhmm. So don't doubt yourself!"

Just at that moment, the door to room 221B opened once more.

"Oh, goodness!" cried none other than Sarah as she closed the door behind her. "I never expected to see you guys here!"

Irene waved and Molly smiled tearfully at the new girl. "I guess you're looking for John?" asked Irene with a small smile.

Sarah looked surprised. "How did you guess! I need to have a word with him about the Student Action Council. He's missed about 3 meetings, and the Head Boy is getting more than a little annoyed. Not that he shows it, or anything!" she giggled slightly. The image of Mycroft Holmes getting pissed off was more than slightly strange, to say the least.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Well you're not going to find him here, he's at Rugby practice. Either come back later or just find him at the sports pitches outside." He snapped a little too vehemently.

Once again, Sherlock was showered with reproachful looks.

"Could you at least refrain from being a complete asshole to Sarah? She is new after all, so I don't see why you shouldn't show some respect!" Irene snapped back at him.

Sarah blushed slightly. "Oh, don't worry, Irene, I bet Sherlock really doesn't mean it. I'm sorry, Sherlock, for annoying you!" she smiled forcefully and tried to ignore the man's low grumbles of _'You will be.'_

However, she couldn't help thinking that something seemed wrong with Molly.

"Err….Molly….is everything ok?" she asked tentatively.

Molly fixed her eyes to the carpeted floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Oh…not really. Just…love issues and stuff" She mumbled quietly.

Sarah plopped herself down on the carpeted floor, having grabbed Irene's arm and brought the dark haired woman down with her.

"I know the feeling, darling. Seriously. D'ya wanna talk it out?"

Molly seemed unsure at first. Her eyes darted from left to right, unsure whether she should trust someone she hadn't really known for very long with an issue that was so important to her. However, after a moment's pause, she, too, sat herself down on the blue carpet of room 221B with the other two.

Sarah smiled brightly at her from the opposite side of their little triangle. "Start at the beginning, honey."

As instructed, Molly took a deep, shaking breath and began her woeful tale.

"Well, It all happened some time ago-"

"Precisely 7 months, 20 days, and 13 and a half hours ago." Cut in Sherlock.

"Urgh, just ignore him and carry on." Commanded Irene with a small twitch of her eye.

"Erm….well….I started feeling something for Jim. You know, Jim Moriarty? The really good looking Irish one with the sunglasses?"

Sarah looked up towards the ceiling in thought. Suddenly, a look of realisation spread across her features.

"Oh! The one who was apparently crowned prom king last year? The one who brought in that ridiculous crown last week for his Social Studies presentation?"

Molly smiled sadly and nodded. "But I'll never pluck up the courage to tell him, and plus, he already likes someone else." She looked back down at the carpet and started picking at it nervously.

Sherlock huffed from behind the three of them. "You're wrong!" he called out in a sing-song voice, but the girls chose to ignore him.

Sarah cocked her head to the side slightly. "How do you know?"

Irene sighed tiredly. "Anthea. He always hangs around her, and you hardly ever see them when they're not together. After all, she's the second most popular girl in school."

Sarah looked up at Irene, puzzled. "And who's the first?"

Irene smirked back at her. "Care to take an educated guess?"

Just as the answer finally dawned on Sarah, the door slammed open so loudly that even Sherlock sat up in his bed in slight confusion.

"Ohoho! We do have quite a gathering in here, don't we? Sherlock, I _do_ hope you're taking care of these lovely ladies!" Lestrade called out with a suggestive waggle of his large eyebrows.

Sherlock almost sighed in relief. "Oh. Lestrade. It's just you. I thought an earthquake might have started." He commented dryly.

"Nope!" the other young man said. From behind his rather large figure, two more people emerged: the first, a sandy-haired man clad in an extremely dirty Rugby outfit, and the second, a slim girl with long, wavy brown hair reaching down to her lower back.

Irene rolled her eyes and jerked her thumb towards the latter of the two. "Speak of the devil. We do seem to be having the most amazing luck, wouldn't you say?"

Molly seemed to retreat behind the other two as if the mere mention of Anthea was enough to kill her.

John seemed not to notice the strange atmosphere in the room when he strode over to his roommate, having found him looking particularly sulky.

"Sherlock, what's up? You look even more pissed off than usual!"

Sherlock was most definitely not in the mood to give a lengthy, in-depth explanation of the situation.

"_Girls" _he muttered darkly back at his friend.

Somehow, John seemed to have understood everything- or at least Sherlock presumed that he had understood from the heavy nod John was giving him now.

"Well, I'm going to have a shower: Rugby practice was particularly strenuous today, and I'm sweating like a pig!" he announced to the whole room and walked into the little en-suite bathroom to the left of the bunk beds.

The girls wrinkled their noses, obviously not appreciating the whole sweating pig simile.

When John finally emerged, washed and fully clothed, he sat himself down on the floor next to Molly, who was looking even more downcast since the appearance of her rival in love.

Her rival in love who didn't seem to understand why Sarah and Irene were now shooting her uncomfortable glances every now and then.

John was too caught up in trying to decipher the silent glances the girls were now giving each other that he almost didn't realise when Greg and Anthea sat beside him, finally completing their circle.

"So what's all this about, then?" asked Greg, really confused.

"_Romance problems"_ mouthed Sarah from the opposite side of the circle. Greg's mouth became a perfect 'O' shape as he finally understood what she was on about. He decided that trying to comfort poor Molly was a good idea.

"Ahhhh….I see. Well, Molly dear, we've all been there. I've been there more times than I can count!"

John looked at him sympathetically. "Yeah. It was rough for you Greg, wasn't it? Realising that Sally actually loved Anderson…"

Greg looked up at him in total confusion. "What? I never considered Sally anything more than a friend!"

It was Irene's turn to contribute to the conversation.

"John, I thought _you _were the one who fancied Anderson!"

If John had been drinking water, he was sure he would have done a spit-take. "W-what?!" he spluttered. "Irene, what the hell are you on about? Just because _you _were jealous that Sarah was chosen to be on the Student Action Council with Myrcoft!"

Irene laughed out loud. "Me? It was Molly that used to like Mycroft, before she fell for Jim!"

Molly looked shocked. "W-what?! I n-never liked Mycroft! Not that he's not a nice guy…."

By now, the whole party were staring at each other in befuddlement and perplexity, and it was right then that Sherlock finally chose to speak up.

"Oh for god's sake, you lot are a complete bunch of morons!" Here he pointed over at Lestrade.

"Greg has had a crush on my brother for about 2 months and 8 days. That's all there is too it."

Everybody else fixed their wide-eyed gaze on the aforementioned member of their party.

"Unfortunately," Sherlock continued, "Anthea much feels the same."

The two who had been singled out stared at each other in surprise, before their looks of amazement turned to cold glares of rivalry. Molly breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Anthea, is this true?" she asked. "So…you don't like Jim?"

Anthea would have laughed were she not angry enough at a certain Gregory Lestrade. "Me? And Jim? What could have given you that idea? We're just best friends, that's all. There's no way I would even think of going out with him, and plus…" here she trailed off slightly. "Sherlock is right. As usual. I've liked Mycroft for ages."

Sherlock smiled to himself, before pointing his finger at Sarah.

"It's become apparent to the whole school that you've been smitten with John here ever since you set foot into this place."

Sarah blushed crimson and John was left spluttering like a madman.

"Irene." Continued the curly haired man. "I suppose the focus of your romantic attention hasn't changed."

Irene shook her head with a small smile. "But seriously, Sherly dear, you really should consider having dinner with me sometime. Sometimes girls get tired of rejection, you know."

Sherlock waved off her comment with a vague hand gesture before turning back to the general circle of friends.

"So. Now that I've clarified all your love lives for you, It would be great if you could all just-"

"Wait!"

All eyes on John.

"You never clarified _my _love life for me!"

Sherlock scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably as he stared down at the floor. Everyone else, instead, started nodding with fervour.

"Yeah! Come on, you've pretty much shamed the rest of us, why don't you tell us who you're into?"

Sherlock cleared his throat awkwardly and never broke his intense gaze on that azure carpet.

"I don't know."

The others gave each other incredulous glances. "What do you mean, you don't know?" Sarah spluttered in frustration.

"Just what I said. I don't know who John likes. I just haven't observed anything about him that would suggest attraction towards somebody."

Then, turning to Sarah, he said, "Maybe you're in luck. Maybe he likes you as much as you like him."

From the corner of his eye, he could see John's stoic poker face, but it wasn't enough to mask two emotions. Two emotions Sherlock could easily describe as chagrin and disappointment.


	8. H is for Hopeful

H is for Hopeful (as requested by **PheonixFeather0198**)

After having some light shed on their various love lives, the party started to disband. Molly immediately approached Anthea, asking for help with the whole Jim situation, and Anthea in turn was eager to hear of any sort of advantage over Greg when it came to Mycroft.

They walked out of room 221B chatting like mad, leaving a rather annoyed Greg to rant with a sympathetic Irene about the difficulty of romance with the Holmes brothers. They too left to go back to their respective dorms; Irene looked forward to sharing the events of the afternoon with Sally, and Greg looked forward to having a down-to-earth discussion with Sebastian. This left an extremely flustered and embarrassed Sarah to quickly run out of the room in order to avoid any confrontation with John.

A rather unamused Sherlock closed the door behind her and slumped down on his bed once more.

"She did come to see you, unsurprisingly. According to her, you've missed 3 Council meetings and Mycroft isn't too happy about that."

The words came out dry and hollow, because the sudden realisation that he just couldn't read John as well as he thought he could was occupying Sherlock's thoughts more than he dared admit.

John was rummaging through a drawer absent-mindedly, so caught up in his own thoughts that he only replied a good 20 seconds later.

"I don't think you should have embarrassed her like that, you know. It's all very well for Molly, Anthea and Greg; Mycroft and Jim weren't even in the room. It's all well for Irene too…I mean… the whole world knows how much she likes you, and how much you like her back."

John could feel the frustration rising in his chest.

"And how you're practically made for each other, with your massive intellects, and your….your constant banter…and those _goddamn _smirks…" his voice was rising steadily with every word.

Sherlock stood up from his bed and lazily strolled over to where John stood, bent over the chest of drawers and gripping the sides of the furniture until his knuckles turned white.

"But John, you do understand that-"

"No I DON'T, Sherlock!" John shouted as he slammed the drawer shut with much more force than necessary. He swore loudly –he had caught his finger in slamming the drawer shut- and turned to face his roommate with a wild expression. Sherlock stared at him, wide-eyed.

He placed a tentative hand on John's shoulder, but the other man brushed him off vehemently.

"All I was going to say, John, is that I feel absolutely nothing but admiration for Irene Adler. No matter how many irritating texts she sends me, asking me out to dinner, I won't accept."

John's hands, which he had unconsciously balled into fists, relaxed slightly and he felt his anger slowly recede. It left nothing but humiliation in its place.

"I-I'm sorry" he stuttered as he pushed past his roommate. However, the other man had already grabbed John's arm and showed no signs of letting go.

"John."

John tried to pull his arm free, but Sherlock showed unusual strength.

"John, look at me."

A moment's pause. John tensed so much he could have turned to stone, yet he lifted his eyes to meet Sherlock's gaze.

"What?" he whispered nervously.

Sherlock looked back into his eyes so fiercely that it took all of John's self control not to grab him by the shirt and smash their lips together.

After another, longer pause, Sherlock dropped both his hands and his gaze to the floor.

"I see."

"What? What do you see?"

"It's me, isn't it."

It was a statement, not a question. For a second, John even thought about pretending not to know what his roommate was talking about. However, he understood that there was absolutely no use in fabricating more lies. He nodded curtly.

"How long have you known?"

John brushed past him as he walked towards his bed.

"John. Tell me."

When he received no response, Sherlock ran his fingers through his curly hair and shut his eyes.

"Please, John."

To John, the look he was giving him was almost hopeful.

"Two weeks after we first met," he whispered as he let out a deflated sigh. Sherlock's eyes widened in sheer surprise.

"But…that was over three years ago. Three years, nine months, two days and… five hours ago, if I remember correctly."

John Hamish Watson was a fighter. He'd broken multiple bones and had not even hissed from the pain. Now, he found it increasingly difficult not to let his tears spill out, so he cleared his throat hurriedly before it could betray any signs of emotion.

"That's right. Three years, and I never breathed a word to anyone, because I knew that it'd just be another of my stupid, one-sided crushes. I knew from the start that you'd never feel the same way."

He sat up from his bed and looked at Sherlock one more time. His eyes flashed with hurt.

"Good luck with Irene. I hope things work out for the best, and I hope you guys will be happy together. Now please excuse me, I really need some fresh ai-"

John's bitter words were harshly cut off by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his waist with enough force to knock him over. If he wasn't fully aware of being awake, he would have thought this a dream; after all, it's not like Sherlock Holmes did hugging on a daily basis.

"W-what are you…" he expostulated in shock, but did nothing to push the man away.

"John, you're a moron."

As Sherlock tightened his embrace, John could swear his heart was about to give out on him.

"What makes you think I have eyes for anyone but you?"

Sherlock took in a deep breath, and couldn't help noticing how the other man smelt of soap and leather and salty popcorn and _John _and at that moment, when Sherlock felt two arms encircling him back, he felt so happy he closed his eyes.

After what seemed like an eternity of standing there, arms wrapped firmly around each other, taking each other in and being calmed by the other's heartbeat, John broke the silence.

"Sherlock…this isn't an experiment, is it?"

Silence.

"Cause if it is, that's ok. But if it is you need to tell me now, before this goes any further."

Silence, then:

"John, I'm rather hurt that you would think of me in that way. For once, I am being fully sincere."

"So…did you really mean what you said before?"

To John, the soft lips now pressed onto his were enough of a confirmation.

"It was always going to be you, John," breathed Sherlock, his face mere millimetres from the other's.

The addressed beamed back at the taller man and roughly closed the gap between them without another thought.

"Ahem."

Both men broke apart fast and spun round in surprise to face a tall, ginger man. His uniform was immaculate, and the bright red tie tied perfectly around his neck meant one thing- head boy.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock scowled at the sudden interruption. "What the hell do you want?"

The head boy leant casually against the doorframe of room 221B and smirked.

"Well, I really do hate to interrupt you two lovebirds, but I need to have an urgent word with Johnny here before you start ripping each other's clothes off."

John's blush was so deep it almost matched the colour of Mycroft's tie. He dropped his gaze to the floor and shuffled slowly towards the elder Holmes brother.

Sherlock was sure to shut the door behind them as he flopped down onto his bed with an annoyed sigh. As much as he tried to keep on reading the book on String Theory he had been previously pursuing, John occupied his thoughts completely. He closed his eyes and exhaled while he tried to let his heartbeat slow.

Meanwhile, outside the door, an unlikely conversation was taking place.

"I do admire you, you know. Plunging yourself headfirst into a relationship with my brother isn't an easy thing to do. Even so, I want to make it perfectly clear to you that if you hurt him, I will do everything in my power to make your life hell. Do you understand?"

John snorted.

"Look, It's all well that you're concerned for him, but you can seriously cut out the whole 'Im-his-brother-and-I-will-kill-you' crap."

"Language, Watson!" Mycroft tutted in response with a small smile.

"I have no doubts that your relationship will be an interesting one. For now, I would seriously appreciate it if you could come to the Council meetings, otherwise I will be forced to take you off it. Your choice."

John hung his head. "I promise that I'll come to all the meetings from now on."

Mycroft smiled back at him. "Good. Look forward to seeing you again, for sure."

John let out a low chuckle. "Definitely. And good luck with your date tonight, by the way!"

Mycroft's poker face slipped slightly as his eye twitched in surprise.

"How on earth did you deduce that?"

John smirked back at him. "Been picking up a few things from that brother of yours. Send my regards to Greg, I hope you guys have a nice time."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Oh, I'm sure he'll fill you in on all the details. Goodbye, Watson!" He called as he walked off with his usual strut.

John beamed to himself as he spun round on his heels and walked back into room 221B.


End file.
